


A Sea of Tranquility

by bmouse



Series: Sea of Tranquility [1]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: AU after "Regeneration", Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Please just let nice things happen to Optimus Prime, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, Team as Family, This idea grabbed me and wouldn't let go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 08:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmouse/pseuds/bmouse
Summary: The hostage ploy works, the Autobots are forced to retreat as Megatron revives the planet and claims the ruins of Cybertron for the Decepticon cause. But is that really the end? Hope springs eternal. And team Prime has always been good at starting over.





	1. Chapter 1

There was nothing else he could have done. 

Oh much later Ratchet had a few choice words and more than a few _pragmatic_ lines of thought. Mostly about weather three small humans, with the combined lifespan of a crystal cyberfly were worth letting Megatron be the one to revive the planet. Of all the things he had shouldered, Ratchet’s despair at his decisions was among the heaviest and always would be.

But truthfully all Optimus felt in that moment, standing there staring at the Decepticon generals smugly holding the little airtight beakers with the children was that it was all so foolish. Foolish and empty, like the last act of a Golden Age tragedy - two ragged bands fighting over which would be the one to clean up a cemetery.

If it were possible to undo even some of the damage from the Cybertronian civil war… then what did it matter who turned the lock? Perhaps he should have gone to Megatron with the keys himself. But no, even he did not have enough willful blind hope to think it would have ended well. Now, seeing this outcome as if through a blue haze of prophecy - the lock triggered regardless (his enemy’s pride would demand nothing less) Optimus felt the way a marathon relay racer might, burning the last of his fuel, the bright lights of the finish line finally in sight.

Whatever happened, the race was over. The pain would cease, the living would go to their berths and awake in the morning.

Slowly, in a way where exhaustion might still be mistaken for stately dignity, he sheathed the point of the Star Saber into the earth in front of him. 

Dentae clenched, his troops had handed over their keys.

Optimus took young Jack Darby's pod in his own servo, the other still on the hilt of his sword. Soundwave gave him a wide berth, stepping back out of range when the exchange was over with a graceful and gratifying speed.

Little could be said to describe the look Megatron gave him as Bumblebee practically threw the fourth key into his grasp - the raise of his brows, his intake half-open in disbelief. Confronted with the sudden overwhelming success of his officers’ latest underhanded tactic, he could not even seem to summon a sneer.

Optimus started back at him flatly, cradling the fragile capsule in the crook of his arm. A tactical subroutine suggested that the swiftest way out of the situation would be to drive the Star Saber into and through the Decepticon Lord’s neck cabling as he was gloating. 

The Prime dismissed it with the ease of long practice. 

"To think... That it would end like this.” Megatron said at last, surprisingly gravely "But your honor was always your greatest weakness, Optimus Prime." 

Strange, Megatron usually eschewed his title. 

Still, he could see, at this close distance, savage triumph dawning over his enemy’s scarred and soot-streaked faceplate. Turning the Keys over in his claws, Megatron smiled like a Pitspawned thing. 

"And today your soft spark has cost you the ultimate victory! Collect your pitiful troops! Go to your groundbridge! And then get the slag off my planet!” 

He turned around and roared, to his remaining vehicons, who, suddenly conscious that something important was happening up ahead, had limped into formation “Cybertron is OURS! From here to the edge of eternity!" 

The cry echoed off the flat plain but then seemed to get lost amidst the ash-ridden wind, along with the Decepticons’ ragged cheering.

Optimus offlined his optics, a nanoklik, he needed just a nanoklik. When he opened them Megatron was still there. It was an odd sort of balm, in that moment, to see honest joy in him, not just twisted pleasure at his evil deeds. 

_Well, I suppose we should retreat before he remembers to ask for any of the relics back. _He thought. Megatron did always get distracted with his triumph, his guard dropped significantly whenever he thought he had the upper hand.

_Finish him _said the subroutine, possibly one of the very voices of the Matrix - _His cannon-arm is up, the sword-arm he sacrificed to grave-robbing. One blow, a 67% chance of success._ But the mech who was now Optimus Prime had long ago given up the luxury of personal preferences and public vulnerability but had long maintained a single, ever-burning private point of rebellion - his once-friend’s life. He would not yield today. 

Instead he nodded solemnly, optics passing over Megatron, over his long-familiar frame. As if this was simply another one of their skirmishes.

Better luck next orn! As if the Lord of the ascendant Decepticons would have any further business on a distant organic world.

From the look on his faceplate, Megatron had yet to realize this may be the last time they would see each other for many vorn.

Ah, but he was tired. The landscape was bleak and sorrowful, and he was far enough removed that even the ruins of Iacon seemed as just another war-torn planet.

The Autobots went, single-file away from the Omega Lock. 

Young Rafael put his hands against the glass where Bee held him in his servos. Perhaps it was for the best that the pods were soundproof so that no Decepticons could hear what Miko was screaming at them. The tattoo of her fists and kicks against the glass was enough to convey that if she were possessed of more firepower Megatron would suffer Hardshell’s fate.

Jack Darby had been weeping quietly into his sleeve since the start of the exchange and if Optimus truly regretted anything in that moment it was that he had caused their young allies distress.

When they were out of sight he transformed into his alt mode and had Arcee and Bumblebee carefully secure the children to the back of his cab. When they stepped back their whole party was still - a tablex of exhausted clockwork soldiers - out of orders and options both.

"Ratchet's... not gonna like this." Arcee said at last, with a wry grimace.

//He did what he had to// Bumblebee both chirped loudly in binary and commed to Optimus’ frequency with the strongest of ‘Respect’, ‘Honor’, ‘Preservation of Life’ glyph attachments. 

Optimus said nothing. 

"That! That dirty, Pitspawned, fr-" Smokescreen seemed to catch himself. "_We had it!_ We _had_ it, Sir. It's not fair-" he swiped a hand over his optics.

Bumblebee, who had spent most of Smokescreen's tenure with their team earnestly wanting to punch the overeager young mech in the audial, now walked over and patted him on the doorwing.

//That’s war, Smokes - you win some, you lose some// he buzzed.

"Hey, you know what-" Bulkhead said wonderingly, casting his optics about the landscape (In the background Megatron was already giving a rousing speech but the wind made his words inaudible, all that was left was his expansive gesturing and the subvocal boom of his resonator.) "-you know what? Frag it." 

He raised his servo to a peice of the wall he had been leaning on and smashed a fresh dent into the metal. 

"Frag this whole Primus-forsaken place, he can keep it! This construction’s slag anyway. The whole foundation was rotten, it-" his faceplate screwed up, words jumbling themselves behind his dentae "-an’ kidnapping kids! A real banner day for the mighty Lord Megatron! Good luck cleanin’ up the mess, ya no-good glitch." 

With another kick at a rubble pile, scattering it with a measure of his old strength, Bulkhead folded defiantly into altmode, engine revving, pointing his front wheels in the direction of their groundbridge.

Arcee and made a rude gesture at the Decepticon assembly behind her without bothering to turn her helm.

"You know what? Bulk's right. This place is nothing but an ugly graveyard now. Megatron can have fun playing tyrant to the dead."

In the end, Smokescreen was the last to transform for the retreat. He stood there, looking bewildered with oil tracks on his cheeks. The sky was shuttered and dark, ruins gaped around them. 

It was far fresher for Smokescreen, than for any of them. In that moment Optimus wished he had left him back at base.

Still after a nano Smokescreen surprised them all. He ex-vented, clicked his pedes together, and bowed out a solemn salute. "Sorry for the interruption, Sir. Ready to roll out."

Optimus revved his engine and took his battered troops away from the war.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they made it through the groundbridge Ratchet had entered a state of infinite grace and and did not ask them questions. This was possibly due to having to placate a panicked June Darby for over two hours. 

He would have probably been better off fighting an entire platoon of Vehicons.

"Well, everyone's alive. That’s something.” he said gruffly, watching them file in. “And the planet’s revived. At least part-way. Started to see a change in readings from the space bridge maybe a joor ago.” 

Optimus said nothing.

The children’s pods were unloaded and unlocked without fanfare, which gave him a blessed few moments to stay in alt-mode and compose himself. They certainly made enough of a distraction.

Jack Darby hugged his mother, the story spilling out of him in-between tearful reassurances. Miko jumped out of her own pod unassisted, her spinal segments arranged in a straight, angry line. Rafael, looking pale and shaken was scooped out by Bee’s servos and seemed unwilling to leave his cupped palms as he commed his family. Still, there was no delaying it, Optimus stood up.

“I hope you were not hurt.” he said to the children, in lieu of facing Ratchet’s searing stare. 

Paradoxically this innocuous question made Jack Darby flinch and Rafael rub at the corner of his face.

Miko made a sound. Her small body hit the side of his pede so hard it bounced a little but then she clung on with a staggering determination. 

“I’m gonna kill him!” she cried “I’m gonna freaking blow up Megatron and all his shitty flunkies then we’ll get your planet back! Okay, Optimus? I’m super, super sorry! I was dumb and we got caught. But I’m gonna fix it! So don’t be sad, okay?!”

Optimus blinked down at her in bewilderment. His outer plating was still cold from the space bridge, it could not be comfortable. He was about to gently pluck her off- 

“You really... lost your planet? For the kids?” June Darby said up at him, wonderingly. 

Optimus had generally inspired wonder in the few humans he had spoken with, or who had seen him. Never in this one. Not until now.

“It was lost to us long ago, June Darby.” he told her, truthfully. “We had but a chance, and I would not pay for it with innocent lives.” 

“Mom, don’t start-” Jack warned. 

“I’m sorry.” she said, decisively. “And I’m sorry I ever doubted you. You’re a good person.” 

_Ah, here I am._ Optimus thought wryly _having failed once again to destroy my enemy or bring my people home, but young Jack’s mother finally thinks I am worthy of her son’s regard._

When he looked down Jack had joined Miko by his pede and shyly claimed his own section of it. Rafael clambered down from Bee’s servos and tucked himself in between them. 

Optimus felt a pang of something beneath his weariness. That was the last thing he was capable of feeling. Thoughts seemed to float down from his processor as snow, slipping through his servos, melting before they could be grasped.

What ought he to feel in this moment? Sorrow? Shame? Recrimination?

Gratitude, perhaps. Yes, he felt grateful for the three small points of warmth below his bottom left wheel.

It was rather a shame, the difference between scale in their species. Even if he had his old frame a human would never be large enough to offer it a full embrace. As he was now, no Autobot was large enough either. 

Pity. He could certainly use one today.

"-if there’s any sort of upside to this, at least we have plenty of Energon.” Ratchet’s sharp voice cut through the fog in his processor. “Scans show that the Decepticons have withdrawn completely from their Earth mining outposts - the entire Nemesis contingent went to Cybertron in preparation for the battle. We have a decent amount of fuel rations from our last raid and now, a window of time to get more.” 

“Anyone up for a raid?” Smokescreen offered, stretching his neck-cables theatrically ”Cons really weren’t at their best today - didn’t quite get all the jitters out.“

Arcee rolled her shoulders. 

“Might as well.”

‘//I’ll take the rookie out for his walk, you should rest.//’ she pinged Optimus on his private frequency. 

Bulkhead took a step forward. 

Ratchet made a warning sound in the back of his throat.

The ex-Wrecker sighed heavily. “I _know_, I know. One fight was enough for me, doc - I’m benched. I’ll handle comms. Might as well see if I can raise Jackie too - tell him what’s up.” 

Bumblebee simply walked over to Optimus’ side and stood there EM field stubbornly overlapping his, and begun sending him regular pings of ‘All Clear’, ‘Ready for Further Orders,’ and, rather daringly - ‘Reassurance.’

Optimus was very proud of them all.

Of course that’s when Ratchet rounded on him. 

“Allright, touching as all this is, _someone_ was fighting a maniac armed with a forged column of Dark Energon. _Again_. Probably in some _very_ _contaminated_ ruins. So you shouldn’t be touching him.” he made shoo-shoo motions at the children “_Off_.” 

“I’ll make sure they get home.” June Darby said up at him, seemingly heedless of his rudeness. ”And Ratchet, I really can’t thank you enough. You kept me sane.“

“I wish someone would keep _me_ sane.” Ratchet grumbled.”I’ll comm you tomorrow June. I want you to keep an eye on their vitals, since I understand unplanned space travel is bad for humans’ essential systems.” 

The children went home.

Optimus stayed. 

Without their buffer of a presence Ratchet stalked up to him - plating flared out, EM field an uncontrolled snarl of emotions-

Bumblebee stepped forward between them, crossing his arms for good measure. 

_Rarely have I had so valiant a defender. _Optimus thought. _Not since someone at a seedy bar once touched Orion Pax’s windshield and Megatronus had thrown them through a wall. _

But there was no need. Ultimately the expression on Ratchet faceplate was not anger but rather something older and well known even to a young archivist who used to sneak out of evenings out to catch the midnight train to Kaon. 

It said: ‘What in Primus’ name am I going to do with you?’

Ratchet ex-vented, reaching gently for Optimus’ elbow joint and guiding him to the medbay’s enormous tilted birth with a medic’s preternatural strength.

“Give him a full ration and make sure he doesn’t get up until sunrise.” he said to Bumblebee, once he was situated. As if Optimus was injured or incapacitated. As if something terrible had happened to him.

Bumblebee nodded solemnly, his own plating now smoothed out and closed.

After a time Optimus onlined his optics and saw that his scout and brought him an armful of cubes. 

What a luxury. And strange to be given so much, today of all days when he felt he hardly deserved it. As it was, Optimus almost asked Bumblebee to draw the curtain around the berth. He usually refueled in private - not to maintain a mystic image as Prime, but because it embarrassed him that his frame needed so much more than those of his comrades. 

It was difficult to take small, even sips of the energon. No wonder his thoughts were scattered - he had been running on fumes.

//Pit of a day, wasn’t it?// Bumblebee said, when he had drained the last of if.

Optimus inclined his helm the barest of fractions. 

//Well… At least… we got nothing they want. Anymore. So… Peace? Maybe?// Bee buzzed hopefully.

“That is also my hope.” Optimus said.

It had always been his hope.

His systems were unused to the full fuel level combined with the enforced inactivity and, to his chagrin, he fell into recharge before Arcee and Smokescreen returned from the raid, with Bumblebee still standing guard at his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tentatively titled "Someone get this poor giant robot a sandwich." Toot toot, the 'nice things happening to OP' train has left the station~


	3. Chapter 3

An hour after sunrise found Optimus at the top of the base, sitting quietly, having obeyed Ratchet’s orders to the letter, if not quite in spirit. Stealth was rather difficult, being a thirty-two-foot warframe, but Arcee and Smokescreen’s raid had yielded an entire pallet of energon cubes and apparently a small feast had followed. The participants were now cocooned full-tanked in their own berths, making his quiet escape from the Medbay eminently possible. Optimus hoped they had all found easy roads to rest.

Soon enough they would all have to face each other again, to fully acknowledge what had happened the day before. Soon enough he would have to leave this space and come back down and present a plan of action but for now the ascendant sun painted arcs of warmth over his shoulder plating and he was disinclined to move. 

During recharge he had half expected to dream something - Alpha Trion, perhaps, flashbacks of Orion Pax’s Iacon which had grown increasingly hazy and monotone under scores of self-protective firewalls. But no. Recharge had been simple and clean.

His thoughts, now in a crisper array, tracked back to a conversation he had unwittingly overheard on the edge of unconsciousness. Of course he always did his best to respect others’ privacy and to never take advantage of the fact that cellular telephone communication was easily intercepted by a being with multithreading and complex receptors. But this conversation was unique in that it had himself as the subject-

////“Look, can’t you do something?” June Darby had said into her phone in the corner of the main hangar that served as a parking spot for her vehicle. 

“Me?!” came the familiar, indignant tones of Agent Fowler “Damn right I’m gonna do something! I’m gonna finish eating this delicious All-American pastrami sandwich and then I'mma get right back on the phone with the Jasper PD. Do you know how many people Mr. Spooky McNoface gave lifelong complexes to when he was swooping around town snatching kids up with his freaking tentacles?! Ben Franklin’s kite! So glad that’s one con we don’t see in the field all that often...” 

“No.” she had hissed. “About Optimus.” 

“What? Prime’s had hits before. And yeah, he’s like a big armored marshmallow but he’s also the toughest guy I know. And I used to train recon marines.”

“Dammit, William! I’m an ER nurse, I work with the strongest, most resilient people on the planet but everyone has limits. Legendary machine men from outer space included. And he’s on the edge of _collapse-_”////

Simply recalling it, Optimus could feel his eyebrow segments drawing together and his intake twisting into a skeptical line. Behind his back, his smokestacks let out a warning curl of smoke in indignation.

He had fought and led armies and functioned long before June Darby’s ancestors descended from trees. To be subject to such overwhelming concern when scant hours ago he was sure was a persona non grata in her classification... 

It was bizzarre, and made him somewhat uncomfortable. But humans were fragile and hyper-empathic and had a tendency to overproject these qualities on things beyond the scope of their understanding.

Optimus had hardly even been injured in yesterday’s battle. True, now with a night-cycle of processing time he was aware that he was frustrated, angry, and disappointed. Fate seemed to grant him fewer and fewer good choices lately. And it was bitter indeed to have seen another share of Megatron’s already-tattered honor rust away to nothing before his optics.

But part of him was also ageless and serene. Perhaps with enough meditation he could drown his own aching spark in those cool waters. And, as always, a part of him hoped...

Megatron had looked… nearly happy. Perhaps free reign of Cybertron, a chance to build his own society for the disenfranchised mechs who had joined the Decepticons: the fulfilment of every dream Megatronus had once ranted about to closing, empty oilhouses, would restore his once-friend to a semblance of rationality. 

_Maybe, after a significant cooling down period, we could negotiate… well, a formal cease fire, to start with._

_Maybe we could stop- _

He was interrupted by footsteps, a minute but very flared electromagnetic field was coming his way. 

Optimus re-tuned his audials to human range, straightened his posture and let the battlemask close shieldlike over what was certainly an un-Primely expression.

In this sense he was alike to the elusive elements of the Human periodic table. When observed, he both became and ceased to be himself.

"Um… hey, Prime." the human said.

It was rather endearing. Never had his rank, geas, and destiny sounded less grave than when spoken by Agent Fowler. 

"Yes, Agent Fowler?" Optimus inquired politely in what he hoped was his usual tone. 

Instead of being reassured, Agent Fowler looked profoundly distressed. 

"Hey man, I heard all about the shit, and I'm sorry. I wish I had a nice combat satellite so I could nuke that guy from orbit. Old bucket-brains really fucking outdid himself, dragging the kids into this, pardon my French.”

“I was unaware that you had spoken in French, Agent Fowler.” Optimus commented. Indeed he had spoken several words that defied translation, but were thankfully not syntactically significant.

“Look,” Agent Fowler rocked back and forth on his feet “are you... _okay_ there, chief? Can I... do anything?” With uncharacteristic tentativeness he reached out and touched the very outside of Optimus’ knee joint and then yanked his hand back as if it was burned. Given how long Optimus had been sitting there, the metal was probably very warm.

Well it was certainly a banner cycle for small organics touching his plating.

Still, it had given Optimus the opening to raise a pressing logistical concern.

"It seems we may be staying on Earth longer than we had originally thought."

Agent Fowler nodded quickly. 

"Yeah, sure. Happy to have you. Y’all are welcome to keep using the base - not like we needed it. Actually, I could get you a bigger no-fly zone and some construction materials and y’all could flesh it out, Make it a little less temporary?" 

"Thank you, William Fowler." 

Agent Fowler coughed into his fist and blinked. 

"Ah geez, don't get all mushy on me, big bot! Least I could do..." his head snapped up, as if he’d had a revelation. “Though I gotta ask, are you expecting any more? Hopefully bots less likely to blow things up than that Wheeljack character?”

"I intend to send a message to the rest of the Autobot contingent. Informing them of the-" the temporary lull? The unconditional surrender? The end of the Autobot cause now that Cybertron was officially Decepticon territory? Hmm. “-the situation." Optimus finished, diplomatically.

"So probably a couple more, huh. Hmm… Could get a little crowded in Jasper. I mean what are we gonna do to hide all the new altmodes, fake a car show? Not a bad plan, actually...” Agent Fowler settled into a seated position next to Optimus’ knee joint and drummed his hands on his thighs. "You know what. I've got an idea. You guys took a big hit, saving the kids, and for a good while before that. Don’t think I didn’t keep track all the times you let tactical advantage slide because it wouda meant collateral. America owes you-”

For the first time, it occurred to Optimus that Agent Fowler was trying to comfort him.

"-and we’ve gotten a little better about paying our heroes back lately." 

Unfortunately the words ‘I am fine, Agent Fowler’ completely stalled out on the way to his vocalizer. On good days ancient coding gave him clarity and on bad days it was a damn inconvenience but Primes, by their very nature, could not lie. 

Meanwhile, his small ally had pulled out his communications device and dialed a long numeric string into the primitive input. 

There was a long silence. 

Optimus blinked. 

Agent Fowler held up a finger in the nonverbal ‘wait, and watch this’ gesture Optimus had observed humans use on their young. 

"Well patch me through then!” he thundered into the phone, after a scramble of voices on the other end. “Ahem, yes. Right. Hello Madam President, so there's been a development. 

No. No, Earth is not in immediate danger. 

Ma’am I just saw an opportunity and wanted to bring it to your attention. What are we doing with the research base? The one on the moon?

What was it called again? Luna-one? 

Oh. 

So we didn’t have a shuttle run for it in the budget this year? You know-” here Agent Fowler looked up triumphantly at Optimus and winked “-I think we could work something out." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agent Fowler is totally Optimus' human and I won't hear any different. God, they're both so awkward ::buries head in hands::


	4. Chapter 4

Forty eight earth hours later, a convoy of vehicles marked “NASA” pulled up to the base. 

Optimus did not rise to greet them, partially because Ratchet had just finished attaching the trailer to his alt-mode and partially because he had learned from experience that Bumblebee or Arcee made for far better first-contact Cybertronians. 

Agent Fowler had shamefacedly muttered something about “-you’re just kind of a lot, Prime. Better ease them into it.” Which Optimus took to mean that he was too intimidating. Agent Fowler might even be correct. Also, he was loath to let the reforged Star Saber out of his servos lately and kept it attached to his back so the enormous broadsword would probably not help a first impression.

So it was a sort of guilty relief to sit there in alt-mode and listen as Jack Darby explained to a cluster of scientists (in a surprisingly steady voice, for a boy who dreaded school presentations) that yes, the ground bridge technology was perfectly safe for humans and that he had been through it dozens of times. 

“Where did you say this tech came from again?” A tall, brown-haired human identified as Dr. Anne Greenberg inquired of Agent Fowler, who stood beside her on the upper catwalk. “And why is this ‘research lab’ staffed by kids? This isn’t some evil Ender’s Game wunderkind camp is it? Then again that’s just like the government, flaking off on my grant money and not telling me they had a working portal the entire time.”

“To be fair the portal ain’t strictly _ours_. We’re borrowing it as part of a diplomatic agreement.”

“With who? And don’t give me that bullshit about sentient car aliens. My kid reblogs those memes - it’s a hoax on tumblr.” 

Fowler shook his head “Doc, _doc_, you _gotta_ sign that NDA.“

“I signed it.” 

“No, the other one. The bigger one.” 

“Anyway, no matter what the kid says this portal has been _extensively_ _tested,_ right?” She’d nodded her head down Optimus below ”It would be a shame to get such a pretty truck stranded in space.”

Agent Fowler laughed. 

"Oh, Prime's not actually a truck. He's just being a good sport ‘cause he’s got the best hauling capacity of the bunch. Don’t worry Doc, their species doesn’t need to breathe, so he’s pretty spaceworthy.”

“What.” said Doctor Greenberg in a small voice. “I swear to god, Bill, if you’re fu-”

Just then, Bumblebee walked through the side hallway, stepping carefully so as not to jostle Rafael perched on his shoulder, typing away at space bridge simulations on his laptop. The scientists standing around Jack startled visibly, but thankfully there were no screams.

It would seem that they, at least, had reviewed the necessary paperwork.

“_Oh_.” Dr Greenberg said quietly. “Okay. Actual car aliens.” 

“Umm… Mr. Prime?” she whispered into his grill a few minutes later after searching in vain for anything resembling an auditory receptor “ I’m sorry? That I called you pretty? I don’t usually sexually harass interplanetary visitors.”

“There is no need to apologize, Doctor Greenberg.” Optimus said politely.

He had been more puzzled than anything else.

Though prior comments from Knockout, an admitted expert in human aesthetics, _had_ indicated that he had picked an unusually handsome altmode. Perhaps it would prove helpful for diplomatic purposes. What a relief it would be, to use his voice and intellect instead of his cannons.

\---

They drove through the groundbridge slowly, each Cybertronian hauling a trailer attachment and with a team of space-suit-clad scientists seated in Bulkhead’s cabin, carefully not touching anything under threat of Miko, 

The ground was firm under Optimus’ tires beneath a fine powdery layer of dust. Once unhooked, Bumblebee, Smokescreen and Arcee peeled off right away to explore the surface of the satellite. Optimus bearing most of the necessary equipment was forced to remain a little longer.

“What is this place called, Doctor Greenberg" He enquired, to maintain polite conversation and perhaps to distract combat subroutines from the disquieting sensation of humans unloading things from his trailer, in his blind spot. 

“Well, umm,” her voice was tinny over the receptor “this is ‘the moon’, as it’s called colloquially. The scientific name for it is ‘Luna.’ This is the research station laboratory designated Luna-One. It mostly analyzes soil samples and tries to grow various plants. Right now it’s entirely mechanized because humans have a hard time with this environment.” 

“I see. And after you depart, it shall remain so.”

“Ha! Did you just make a joke?!” She sounded so delighted that Optimus himself could not help but smile.

“Merely an attempt, Doctor.” 

“I mean if we’ve got humor and empathy in common it really can’t be so bad, right? Still a little weirded out that you guys don’t have noses though.“

Optimus, who did not feel that his faceplate would be improved by a central protrusion, politely kept his silence.

"Aww! They're just like my nephews." 

Over yonder Bumblebee had transformed into bot-mode after a spirited round of donuts on the research base’s ‘lawn’ as it were, and was lying down, moving his limbs in a ritual Human dance which resulted in an imprint termed a 'snow angel.' It was proceeding surprisingly well. 

Bulkhead was rolling about taking mineral samples and setting up sidesemic readers to scan for Energon. He looked content, his gait a little easier in the lower gravity, his posture straighter without having to look around for enemies.

Arcee was a speck in the distance, her habitual anger and frustration burning off into speed. But this was a familiar thing about her, and she would always return. 

When Optimus looked back, Bumblebee was now teaching a bewildered Smokescreen to perform the 'snow angel.’

Optimus observed it all and felt something settle inside him, like the soft gray dust.

“Okay, we’re done with unloading. Sorry if that was uncomfortable in any way, carrying our stuff.”

“It was not.” Optimus reassured her. 

“You can, umm, stretch your legs, if you want."

“Thank you. Though you may wish to step back.”

Opitimus unfolded upward, and took a step. 

"Holy-" gasped Dr Greenberg and cut herself off.

There was no atmosphere here to shield him from the solar radiation, but in contrast space was refreshingly cold. It was bracing and warm all at once, like a windy day on the silicon beaches near Polyhex. 

Optimus took another step and turned his helm upward to look at the Earth. It was there, blue and whole. Seeing it overhead he was reminded that at least he had managed to preserve it from Unicron’s awakening. Perhaps, despite his many failures, there was something to be proud of in this last campaign.

Off to the side, Dr Greenberg was blinking back little awestruck tears inside her helmet as she wrestled with her bulky research camera, trying to capture the image that would later win her a Pulitzer: 

The Last Prime of the Cybertronian people, standing on the moon, electrostatic dust swirling around his pedes, the light liming his serene and scuffed up faceplate, catching on the edge of his holy sword. 

\---

Optimus walked for a time, and then when he was out of line-of-sight he drove. There was no path, his scanners simply indicated the best route between the many craters.

It was freeing - to simply drive without the constraint of roads.

There had been no places like this, around Iacon. Civilization had long tamed the surrounding plains into populated suburbs and even in the faux-prosperity of the days before the war, to go too far from the city center on your own was to invite trouble.

Here, the austerity of the landscape was soothing somehow. Even the dust he kicked up was beautiful, fanning out into fanciful arcs and curves behind him. As if the track he left was growing wings.

It was as if a soft mesh cover had been drawn over this brave little satellite, which so often shielded the Earth from meteoric bombardment. 

Eventually he came to a point of lower elevation - the nadir of a large crater. The ground was flat and level, good for eventual construction and over the silence ringing in his audials he could almost hear the murmur of future voices, could almost see a bubbling dome encompassing the edge of the crater rim to shield the city inside.

He looked up. 

By virtue of some ancient homing module added to his code by the Matrix he could always tell where Cybertron was, no matter how far the Autobot contingent had traveled away from it after its abandonment. Closing his optics he let himself rotate to face it. Was it simply wistful thinking? Or perhaps the long-strained connection to his Creator, but Optimus would have sworn that he could feel the planet, the core rotators slowly beginning to move, the shell of Primus, awakening once again into life.

"Be well.” he thought at it. And at all therein.

In a way, the way that prophecies had maddened and muddled scholars in the ages past, it could be argued that although he did not turn the Omega lock, he had assembled the keys, he too had a hand in this sweet, miraculous undoing. 

Cyhbertron was alive. And their people dwelled in it once again. Decepticons, yes, but what did it matter? 

Perhaps this was the answer. Perhaps enough time would simply smooth over the ancient rift, if they made two civilizations alike in dignity. First, a nonaggression pact. Then, they could have trade. And then, slowly, gently, he could ensnare Megatron in a lasting peace. 

And on the wings of that small hope came a sweet somnolence. As if his eons of war-weariness were now being kindly but inexorably unearthed.

Optimus knelt carefully inside the crater then let himself fall onto his back in the dirt.

"Dr. Greenberg, can you still hear me?" 

"Yes, I read you." 

"What is the name of this region in particular?" 

"It's called ‘The Sea of Tranquility.’ Though I think with the refuge agreement you guys can call it anything you want." 

"No,” Optimus said. “I see no need to change it. It is a beautiful name." 

~


End file.
